


Curiosity

by Titti



Category: Blind Justice (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-24
Updated: 2005-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titti/pseuds/Titti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim wonders why Marty has been acting so nicely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity

Jim sat at his desk waiting for the guys to arrive with the equipment to video tape Warren Doyle. He sighed and leaned back on his chair. He closed his eyes, and then smiled. He didn't need to close his eyes, it certainly made no difference, but some habits were hard to break.

Then he heard a noise, and sat up. The sergeant downstairs would have notified him if someone would be coming up, and yet he knew someone was there. "Karen?"

"It's me." Marty's low voice seemed too loud in the empty room. "I saw Karen downstairs, getting ready for her date." He pulled his chair closer to Jim's desk. "Figured I'd keep you company and make sure things are done right."

Just a week ago, Jim would have seethed for such a remark, but now it didn't seem more than a natural jab between partners, and he smiled. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Jim chuckled, and there was silence. Jim tried to imagine what the other man was doing, how he was sitting, but he kept coming up with blanks. It wasn't so hard with people he knew before, people whose idiosyncrasies were familiar, but he had no reference for Marty, and when Jim had thought that he had figured the other man out, his entire perceptions had been shifted again. "You were...you were very supportive with this case."

"As I said, I have a kid."

That should have been enough. Besides cops hated child molesters as a rule, and yet his gut instinct told him that it was more than that. "Shouldn't you be home with him instead of wasting time with me?"

The sharp intake of breath told Jim that he had hit the mark before he even heard the word. "Laura and I split up four years ago, said she couldn't take being married to a cop, the hours...like she didn't know before we got married. Anyways, John lives with her."

"Sorry." Jim dropped his eyes, another habit that still persisted even though he couldn't see the other man. "My wife and I...we were having problems, and then..." He waved in front of him, pointing to his eyes for an instant. "We'd be divorced if this hadn't happened, and a part of me will always love Christie, but she stayed with me out of pity, and I doubt I'll ever forgive her that."

Jim wasn't sure why he was telling Marty this. He certainly hadn't told the shrink, and he would never tell his wife. A part of him would always love her, but the other part was a realist, knew that she hated him being a cop, regardless of what she said or how supportive she tried to be.

"Yeah, first they want to be with you, play Florence Nightingale, but with time, they get tired...Maybe she thinks she gets to play nurse."

Jim raised his head when he heard the snort. "What?"

Jim could almost 'see' the shrug in Marty's voice. "Knowing you, I doubt she's getting her wish fulfilled... Were you always such a prick?"

He stopped and thought about the question. "I'd like to think that I'm not a prick, but... no, I don't think so. I've always been a cop, you know? You can't question yourself out there, but now…I need to know everything, direct everything, if I can find my way through cases." His lips curved a little. "Christie...I think she's finally realizing that blindness won't change me, at least not how she expected. Sometimes, I wonder how long she'll hung around."

"Hey, maybe you're one of the lucky ones." One of the few cops that didn't get divorced was the unspoken meaning. The NYPD was made up by divorcees and fervent Catholics who wouldn't divorce the person they hated. Oh, there were exceptions, but they were hard to find in the 20 thousand plus man force.

The noise from the door interrupted their discussion, but maybe it was for the better. They'd been getting along well during the Sam Berglass' case, too well, and the sudden change made Jim weary.

"We're here for the videotaped confession."

Young, male, possibly in his early twenties, judging from the voice, with someone else walking behind him. Jim got up, a hand on the edge of his desk. "About time, guys." He called for Hank, but he could sense Marty walk just ahead of him, heard the chairs pushed out of their way, and forced himself not to think about what it meant. They had a job to do, and it was time he nailed Warren Doyle. For Sam. For Jill. For all the boys that had been molested because he hadn't put Doyle away the first time.

~*~*~*~

The two guys, who ended up being a guy and a woman in her mid 20s, packed their stuff as soon as the interrogation was over, and left even faster. Jim couldn't blame them since it was well past 2am. He and Marty had taken their time, covering every possible angle, making sure that no defense lawyer could find some technicality to get the bastard off. Then again, it seemed like neither of them was in a rush to go home.

Jim heard the shifting of fabric, Marty was probably putting his jacket on, getting ready to leave himself, and for some reason, Jim wasn't ready to be alone. "That was good work… I mean asking if the confession had been coerced in any way was risky, but it was good."

"You didn't want a lawyer to say that you beat him up or something, never know what these creeps can make up to get free."

"You're smirking, aren't you?" Jim was smiling himself.

"What can I say? You got one hell of a left hook. So…" There was a pause, and Jim thought that maybe he wasn't the only one who wasn't ready to be alone. "Do you need a ride?"

"That'd be nice. You could… you know come up for a drink, celebrate this collar."

"This needs celebrating. Child molester..." Jim heard the hate in Marty's voice. Maybe he should learn to let it out instead of internalizing everything. "I don't want to bother your wife, though."

"Nah, she's away, traveling with her boss." Possibly doing a lot more. No matter what she said, Jim couldn't trust her completely, not anymore.

"Then, let's celebrate."

Jim felt for the briefest moment a hand on his back, but it had to be his imagination because Marty would never do that, and then Hank was at his side, and for the second time that night, he found himself following the noise from Marty's footsteps as obstacles were pushed away from him.

The ride home was filled with silences and shop talk. Jim had found it easier to talk at the precinct, a place that felt like home now, but here, in Marty's car, he lost the home court advantage, and he hated the sense of inferiority. He made it up by putting up walls that he had cultivated for years.

Then the car stopped, but Marty didn't get out. Jim frowned, trying to understand what was happening. "You okay?"

Jim turned toward Marty in an unconscious gesture. "Yeah, maybe just tired."

"We can celebrate some other time..."

Jim shook his head. "I should have done this two years ago. If I had put him away then…"

A hand, warm and strong, squeezed his shoulder. "Ifs don't help us in this jobs. You did what you could…Oh, I forgot, I'm talking to super cop," Marty said, his tone light.

Jim cracked a smile. "All right, I deserve that. C'mon." He opened the car door, before opening the back door. He waited for Hank to jump out before closing it again. The German Sheppard led him to his front door. He searched for the lock with his fingers, before sliding the key in. It usually didn't take him this long, but Marty was standing right behind him. It was making him nervous, like this was some sort of test, but Marty wasn't saying anything, just waiting patiently, and again Jim wondered why Marty had been so 'nice' the entire week.

"Nice house," Marty said as Jim closed the door behind them.

"Thanks." Jim caressed Hank before the dog found his spot on his mat. Jim put his coat and jacket on the armchair, touching it to make sure that he didn't miscalculate. "What would you like to drink? We have scotch, gin, brandy, wine, and beer."

"Beer's better. We have to work tomorrow."

Jim nodded, and went to the fridge. He found two bottles with his fingers. When he straightened up, he felt Marty standing right behind him. He closed the door, and turned around. He hated feeling so weak, back pressed against his refrigerator and Marty's body too close. He thought something to say, something that would explain the last week, but he could only come up with, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have you been so supportive? Why were you willing to accept Doyle as a suspect based on my word alone? Why did you agree to 'lose' that slip even over Karen and Tom's objections? Why did you try to make me feel better when Jill came to the station. Why have you been nice to me?" He hadn't meant to yell, but he knew he had lost his calm as he spoke.

"You want to know about Doyle?" Marty's voice was hard, as he stepped even closer. Now, Jim could feel the other's man's breath on his face. "Because the man is scum. Because I have a son. Because he deserved to rot in jail regardless if he did it now or two years ago. Because even when you're an overachieving bastard, you're still a good cop, and I'll take your word over the word of someone like Doyle. Is that good enough?"

"Yes," he answered, but then he shook his head. "You could have helped us nail Doyle without being…"

"Nice?" There was sarcasm, and something else in Marty's voice. Self-deprecation? "I thought the point was to stop arguing?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, but stop fighting doesn't mean-" He froze when he felt a hand on his cheek. Marty was touching him, soft, gentle, Marty's fingers were exploring almost as if he were the blind man. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I…I shouldn't…I have to go."

Jim reached blindly, grabbing Marty's arm. "No, you're going to tell me what the hell it's going on. Some other game? Make fun of the blind guy? What fuck up game are you playing, Marty?"

"You think I'm playing? You think I'd be so stupid?" Marty snorted. "Well, let me tell you the other reason my wife left me. She found me with my best friend. Joey and I… let's just say we weren't friends after that, and Laura was good. She never said nothing, and I forgot until you showed up. Fuck…"

Jim could almost imagine Marty running his fingers through his hair, although he had no way to be sure that it was what it was happening.

"You remind me so much of him." Jim winced when he heard the noise. Marty probably had punched the cabinet, solid wood that didn't break. "I'm a fucking cop, Jim. We don't fuck guys…."

There was another pause, and Jim didn't know what to expect anymore. Nothing had turned out the way that he had imagined. Not Sam's death, not Karen's boyfriend, and not Marty. He felt hands on his shoulders, and he fought to stay still.

"I thought…I never wanted any other guy after Joey, and then you show up, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill you or fuck you and it was easy because I hated you and you hated me, and then you decide that you want to be friends-"

"And you didn't want to be friends, because you wanted to fuck me." The words sounded strange as he said them. He couldn't get his tongue around them, let alone his brain. "Marty…." Jim sounded so desperate, but what was he to say?

Marty let him go. "Don't worry, Jim. I'll stay away. Hell, we can start hating each other again. It should be easy."

It was Jim's turn to reach out, touching Marty's face, 'seeing' him for the first time. "Why? Why me? It can't be only resemblance, can it?"

"I didn't say you look like him, but you remind me of him. You take charge, don't let anyone boss you around. Joey was out, you know. He was out and Italian, and he didn't give a shit about what people said. He was different, and fought to be accepted…He also never put up with any of my bullshit. Does that remind you of someone?"

Jim felt the smile on Marty's face, and smiled himself. "Maybe… I've never cheated on my wife…at least not with another man."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I know, but the problem is that I want to," Jim answered.

"You want me to fuck you?"

Jim didn't have to see to know the incredulous look on Marty's face, and shook his head. " I wouldn't push it that far, but… people are usually attracted to me despite being a pain in the ass, not because of it. I want to know what it's like not to fight-"

Marty snorted. "Are you sure you remember who we are?"

"Not to fight who I am to please someone," Jim said with a smile, ignoring the interruption. Then, he sighed, and his hands dropped to his side. "I'm sorry. This isn't fair to you."

"Why? 'Cause you're curious? Been there, done that, ran away when confronted. Yeah, I know what it feels like to wonder, to be tempted." Marty's voice softened as he ran a hand over Jim's arms. "I also know what it means to want someone who's off limit, someone you should never touch, and when I did, it cost me my marriage and my best friend. You have to make that choice for yourself, not for me. You're the one with the most to lose."

Jim reached up, framing Marty's face with his hands. He licked his lips, a sign of his nerves, but he doubted that Marty knew him well enough to know that. "I don't scare easily."

"It's not a dare," Marty said seriously.

"I know. It's something I need to do." There was no way to explain how his life had started again when he became blind, how he had made a pledge to himself that he wouldn't let anything or anyone stop him from experience life to his fullest, and now he wanted this.

"You make it sound like a job."

Jim smirked. "Not quite." And he was tired of talking, so he leaned forward. Their noses bumped, and yes being blind and kissing required some coordination, but as soon as he made the first move, Marty took control. In a breath, the kiss turned from tentative to almost violent: their teeth clinking, scraping chopped lips, tongues fighting each other, being sucked on.

Sometime during the kiss, Jim found himself pressed against the countertop. Marty's hand pressed against his cock, and he gasped. Marty hadn't given him all the details because he was too sure of what he was doing, but Jim would question it later, when his brain would work again.

Jim stilled when he felt Marty reaching for his pants.

"I'll stop if you want," came Marty's voice, right in his ear. The lust in the voice shot straight to his cock.

"Don't." Jim reached for Marty's head and pulled him closer, until he could find Marty's lips again. With the other hand, he fumbled with Marty's pants, opening them with some difficulty, but he managed. He had to fight with a button, and a zipper, and the elastic band, but finally his fingers found his objective.

His fingers slid up and down Marty's cock, feeling each bump under them. His thumb rubbed the crown, and down the vein in the underside. He was absorbing every details with almost detached curiosity. He had known Christie's body before he went blind, but this was so knew, so unusual, so new, but then Marty pushed his own pants down, and all scientific curiosity flew out the window.

Marty was strong, confident, and each movement showed that, and Jim realized just how vulnerable he was, and yet, the pleasure…he doubts he'd ever felt like this. Christie was always so careful, afraid that he'd break, but there was no holding back here as Marty's fingers worked him over without mercy, and he never knew what would happen next, not the bite on his lip, not the knee between his legs, pushing them wider. Nothing was predictable and every sense was alive, trying to predict, learning to accept, realizing how much he enjoyed it.

"Like that?" Marty growled, not even masking the dare in his voice.

Jim nodded, fighting to find the words, any words. "God…"

"You're fucking hot like this…I knew you would be…shit, can you feel how hard I am? How much I've wanted this?"

Jim squeezed his fingers, and yes, he could feel the erection twitch in his hand. He also heard the gasp from Marty, and he squeezed again while his hand glided up and down Marty's erection. When he thought it couldn't get better Marty's mouth, hot and wet, fastened on his neck, sucking on sensitive skin, and his cock throbbed in response.

He whimpered when Marty left his neck exposed and naked. His mind knew that Marty was being careful not to leave evidence, but his body complained nonetheless. "Marty…"

Marty didn't answer, or not with words, but his lips closed on Jim's, drowning Jim's complains. After a moment, he felt, 'saw' Marty come. There was no faking this, no pretending. This was real as warm come covered his hand, and Marty's cock twitched in his hand, and Marty didn't pause, his fingers sliding over Jim's cock.

"Let go, Jim," he whispered in Jim's ear, before drawing back. Jim felt Marty's fingers in his hair, pushing his head back against the cabinet. He tried to picture what Marty was seeing. His lips felt swollen, his face was warm and probably red, his pants and boxers were down to his thighs, his cock was hard in Marty's fingers, his breathing was fatigued, and his chest heaved for breath, and Marty was standing there, watching, jerking him off, wanting more, and it was enough to push him over the edge, his orgasm wreaking through him until he couldn't move anymore.

"Let me get you cleaned up." Marty sounded distant, and he wasn't sure if it was physical or emotions.

Jim was back on the defensive. "I don't need help."

"Jesus fucking Christ, would you stop for a moment? You're blind, you're self-sufficient, you're just like any other guy. I get it, okay? I would have said the same thing to another guy, is that fucking okay with you?"

Jim ran his fingers though his hair. "Yeah, sorry, it's a natural response."

"Yeah, well, it's not after you've just come against a kitchen cabinet." Marty sighed, before the water began to run. He came back with wet paper towels, easy to dispose, and it was scary how Jim was already thinking about evidence or lack thereof.

"You're going to be all right?" Marty asked as he cleaned Jim up, and Jim found that he couldn't move, didn't want to move.

"Yes…no…maybe. Last time, she found out that I was cheating… well we almost got divorced, she said the lies were worse than the cheating" He took a deep breath. "Maybe I should tell her."

"Maybe you want to think this through, Jim. One fuck isn't worth your marriage, and no matter what they say lying is always better than cheating if you don't get caught. Think long and hard before you make your choice."

"One fuck proves that there is something wrong with my marriage, but you're right, I'll think about it." He reached down for his pants and pulled them up. "That beer…"

"Forget about it. It's late, and we both need some sleep." Marty's hand rested on his face, and it felt a lot more intimate than the tongue sucking kisses from a moment before. "You think about what I said, you hear?"

"Don't worry, Marty. I'm not gonna wait for her in front of the door. She's not coming home until tomorrow night anyway, and don't worry I wouldn't tell her about you."

"I've got nothing to worry." Marty sounded almost disappointed.

Jim frowned, and tried to understand, but he gave up quickly. Recent events proved how little he knew about Marty. "So… I'll see you tomorrow, Marty."

Silence, and then a chuckle. "Yes, I'll see you tomorrow, Jim."


End file.
